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Thursday, September 29, 2011

..."I've seen wild turkeys before and these birds are definitely not turkeys. They don't have those things under their necks, combs or something?"

"Hmm, I thought combs were only found on chickens?"

"I don't know," I said. "Well, I gotta go, someone is knocking at the door."

"I hope it ain't Merlethem, he he," mom said.

I hoped it wasn't my crazy neighbor, either. However, I wasn't too surprised to see her standing there on my porch, shotgun in hand. "I'm thinking about going after those turkeys, you wanna have a go with old Winston, here?"

"Well, I'm not sure. Why do you call it Winston?"

"Oh, heehehehe, you silly girl, after Winston Churchill, of course. He's saved me arse on more than one occasion."

"Who? Winston Churchill? I didn't think you were in the war?" I asked. As many times as it has happened in the past, I should have known better than to ask Merlethem any questions.

"Well, back in '44, I was just a wee lass and we had just come through the roughest winter. It seems we spent every other hour down in the bomb shelters hiding from those blimey Germans. Whenever we ran into the shelters, we were always told to bring any form of weaponry we had. And this is how old Winston ended up in the Shatz family. Watch this!"

When Merlethem said that, I stepped back and watched in complete disbelief as she raised old Winston to her shoulder and got off two rounds from the double-barrelled beast. "Holy Crap! What in the hell are you shooting at?" I yelled.

"Look there. Look down there." I followed her gaze down to the old chicken house and saw the birds again. Or what was left of them.

"Well, I think you killed 'em," I said. As we walked down the hill to inspect the damage (two birds were dead) we were surprised when the last remaining bird flew over our shoulders and landed near his friends. "Well, Merlethem, it ain't a turkey, that's for sure."